andthentherewere2...kittens

So, we've adopted/rescued/accepted 2 baby kittens into the fold. They were found at approximately 1 week of age outside of a coworkers home, and spent a couple more weeks being nursed to health by another coworker. Neither were able to keep the kittens, due to their already considerable pet stores. Inevitably, the word was put out that they needed a home, and for some reason, the conversations kept turning towards me. Granted, I had recently begun the hunt for a pet, being the only one among my fellow restauranters who did not yet have one. And of course, I was already visiting pet stores to meet the cats on display. But kittens?

I have always thought there is a strange sort of cohesion between pets and owners, some subcutaneous mixing of the humours which leads to multiple similarities in not only temperament but also physical makeup and habits. I haven't got enough data to publish, but there's a strong case to be made nonetheless. Anyway, I have always found myself drawn more to the plus-sized adult male CATegory. The Garfields, if you will. Definite cognitive activity, but in a vessel that really isn't built for much more than lounging, purring and scarfing down trays of lasagna/whatever its owner leaves the cover off of. Kittens represent to me things I am largely uncomfortable with--childhood, rambunctiousness, cuteness and innocence. Perhaps I've been looking for my totem, my ancient morbidly obese tabby which would sit on a high perch on oversee all activities in my household while I slowly massaged its scruff.

During this time my wife was away in Florida doing a show, and in addition to the concern over taking on not one large, lazy mouth, but two tiny yet unfillable ones, I realized something very interesting--the idea of having to care for anyone or anything, particularly in the infant stage, without my wife around is just terrifying. I just don't want any part of it. Whereas she is the seasoned nanny who was looked after all manner and age of child with great success, I have babysat all of once, whereupon I learned that if you rile up a 4 year old enough by pretending to be 'Robositter', they might just hit you on the head with a 10 lb pewter doorstop. It was my last unimpaired memory of being alone with children, and I'm not eager to add more. Even though I didn't specifically fear a concussion he idea of taking home two baby kittens was still understandably daunting. There were 8 days left when I finally said yes, eight days of wifelessness. Fortunately, they passed uneventfully. The kittens were so small, I left them in her bathroom the whole time. My coworkers had done wonderful things with getting them to a point where they ate and drank from food dishes and knew to hit the litter whenever nature called. All I had to do was sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor a couple hours a day and give them tunnels and platforms to attack one another from. It's all very swashbuckling, the dramas that play out.

Currently, they have full run of the house, and that's exactly how they take it most often, at a full run. They are just getting big enough to make marks on things that they climb, and so I have embarked on a whole new level of pet ownership which is known as accessorising. If you ever wondered how many kinds of cat towers/condos/gyms there are out there, we're talking upwards of 2 million online stores, each with their own styles and prints. Faux fur, fleece, carpet, tunnels and hammocks and sisal, oh my! It's kitty porn, and I'm addicted. God help us if someone makes one that can hold up to 150 lbs, because I would be on that like a tiger stripe. The kittens could have the couch...